


Do Not Be Afraid

by Tyler_Blackwing



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Confessions, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Not Beta Read, Post-Apocalypse, Scared Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 11:11:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20274967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyler_Blackwing/pseuds/Tyler_Blackwing
Summary: It doesn't take the Apocalypse to gather the courage to confess your feelings.Sometimes it not happening right in front of your eyes is enough.(Even though escaping certain execution through the hands of Heaven and Hell might help a bit.)This is soft, and self indulgent, and it's my first fanfiction in ages. Also not beta'd, so I'm grateful for corrections and suggestions.





	Do Not Be Afraid

**Author's Note:**

> I enjoyed the novel thoroughly, looked forward to the series, and got more than I'd dared to dream. What the GO Crew made is beautiful, and it feels so loved!  
Didn't plan to plunge into the fandom so deeply, but I can't help it. Those two are adorable.  
Hope whoever reads this scene will like it.

Oftentimes, all it takes for suppressed emotions to surface is a disaster. Something like a car crash, maybe. The death of a close one. A war. Or all of it – even if it doesn't quite happen, the almost-experience would cause most humans to realize their priorities. And this is not only the case for humans, to be fair. In an old bookshop in Soho, London, an angel and a demon were having tea in companionable but rather tense silence a few days after the world should have ended.

Aziraphale smiled into his cup as he took a sip, well aware that Crowley was staring at him from the sofa on the other side of the small table. The demon often did, seemingly feeling safe with the dark glasses shielding his eyes, but he did feel his gaze linger more insistently since his very unfortunate discorporation. He had seen Crowley afterwards, hopelessly drunk and possibly even crying (that he wasn't quite sure of) and they hadn't talked about it yet, what with the whole choosing their faces wisely business.  
It had been a trying time. Very much so, even more for his friend, and not only were they both tired, they also had absolutely no nerve to argue. For now.  
His mug made a gentle clacking sound as he set it down onto the table, and Crowley stopped mid-movement when Aziraphale looked up to the familiar sunglasses as if he were able to see the yellow eyes beneath.  
“What?”  
A new smile tugged on his lips when he thought about the familiarity of the irritated question.  
“Nothing, dear boy, nothing in particular at least”, he said and fidgeted for a moment. “I suppose I am just relieved.”  
“Should be. 's long as we can, before the big one.”  
“Would you be kind enough to not remind me of that for now?”  
Crowley shrugged, pouting or being annoyed or maybe just hoping he could finally put away the tea cup and switch over to a more substantial single malt instead. Aziraphale allowed himself to sigh deeply, instantly feeling better for the rush of oxygen which he, technically, did not need.  
“What I was trying to say, um.” He wrung his hands a bit, then rested them on his knees, straightening his shoulders. “Firstly, I am truly, terribly sorry for how I treated you.”  
Crowley looked taken aback, silently opening and closing his mouth, a deep frown on his forehead, before he waived nonchalantly. It seemed to take a lot of effort to sound so calm. (Well, to try sounding calm. He didn't, actually, but Aziraphale appreciated the attempt.) “Tha's alright, Angel, 's not like it matters any more...”  
“Oh, but it does! Crowley. You were right all along and still you don't try to rub it in, you even came back to the bookshop after our fight, although I wasn't there any more.” For a demon, he did seem rather emotional, he thought for a moment, when long fingers curled into tense fists and thin lips warped into a fine line. “See, there were more pressing matters at hand, but now...”  
“Aziraphale.”  
“_Dear_.” Again, those lips went silent, and he just looked, pleading, into the dark glasses. He regarded his ally, his friend, with a gentle but urgent seriousness before he offered a smile. “I just want to thank you.” He saw that it took a lot of strength on Crowley's side to not talk back about thanking him. He was very tempted to thank him for that, too. “And to tell you... I am not unhappy about how things have turned out. With us, I mean. I know it took me some time...”  
“Took you _ages_, Angel.”  
“Yes, thank you, I am well aware – what I am trying to say is...”  
He couldn't quite explain why, in the blink of an eye, he was standing in front of the sofa Crowley had been draped over so carefully, or why Crowley was standing also, though that had possibly to do with his hands having grasped the demon's. His gaze flickered down and his lips pursed in worry upon feeling a slight tremble in the slim fingertips that were pressing into his palm.  
“Aziraphale, don't.” The words were merely a whisper and it seemed that Crowley was determined to keep their carefully established distance, just far enough to not be touching if none of them reached out farther than usual, enough space to lean toward him a bit, but just close enough to hear a gentle murmur when riding the bus or feeding ducks. Close enough that, should Aziraphale gather enough courage to lean in, too, they would _most definitely be touching_. Not that he had ever done that, until their lunch at the Ritz.  
And now, he did it again.  
He reached out not to grasp his other hand, or pat his shoulder, but to brush his fingertips against Crowley's cheek. Gently, he smoothed back a stray strand of red hair, grazing the snake symbol with his thumb. The demon was so incredibly still and yet he felt him tremble, and he held his gaze although he did not quite see the yellow eyes through the glasses. He could feel them, that was enough. Never would he dare to just rid Crowley of this barrier.  
Kissing him was nothing like in the books, he noted. No rush of adrenaline, no restricted breathing, no all-devouring passion pooling in his gut. He just felt... right. Safe. He hummed contentedly against the lips he had hardly been able to stop thinking about after their visit at the former birthing hospital, and Crowley made a desperate little sound that tingled against his mouth before he grabbed the lapels of his coat.  
“Please...” It was almost a sob. His eyes flew open in wonder, staring at his friend who seemed to be shaking with every fibre of his body. Who was pushing him away, yet holding on tightly, as if he were afraid of him disappearing. “Aziraphale, don't, just... don't.”  
“Oh dear, now _I_ am going to fast, I – I'm terribly sorry...” He was almost a little hurt, but then he sensed the fear seeping from Crowley as if he had been drenched in ice cold water, saw his sharp features contract, no matter how bravely he tried to suppress his emotions. Aziraphale blinked. This was not about them. This was about others.  
“My dear boy”, he said gently and pried the demon's fingers from his coat, curling them around his own hand and pressing a kiss on his knuckles. “Oh, Crowley. Dear. There really is no need for this...”  
“There bloody well is, Angel, and you know it! For... Somebody's sake, this whole thing, it's not over yet! And those bastards,” He waived vaguely upwards. “They... They might just make you fall if they can't kill you, and nobody can say they won't be trying that again, too. This can't happen, this is not right, you're an Angel and I'm...-”  
“Have we switched sides again?" Aziraphale chuckled softly. "Would be funny, wouldn't it. Me doing the wrong thing.” His voice was quiet, but even though Crowley had been in a blazing, raging speech, he instantly lost track of his arguments. He pushed his sunglasses down a bit, and stared incredulously over the rim.  
“What the...-”  
“I'm not afraid, Crowley. Not anymore.”  
“But...”  
“I did lose my faith, just before I called you to tell you about the whereabouts of the Antichrist. I could not believe that God would be planning to destroy this beautiful world with its fascinating creatures. And yet, every angel I met told me that the Great War was inevitable. That we needed to fight, to win, no matter the cost, even though it's always the uninvolved who suffer...” Crowley seemed sad, and he realized that it was because he himself was feeling sad for his brothers and sisters, for Humanity and for the World. He kissed his knuckles again, one by one, calming himself down until he could trust his voice to stop wavering.  
“But I never, not once, lost faith in _you_, my dear. I feel like all of this was supposed to happen.”  
“Aziraphale, what if you...”  
“I won't. I will not fall, Crowley.” He took both of Crowley's hands into one of his and pressed them to his chest, so that the other was free to cup his face. His hand caressed the sharp features, reverently. “It's not angels who make other angels fall. It's God. And if She were to make me fall for loving you, then I would have fallen ages ago.” It was endearing, really, the way Crowley's breath hitched and his eyes shimmered. “She knows. She might not answer, but She listens. I do believe that. And I am rather certain that we are supposed to be where we are.”  
Dark glasses were pushed back into place and a nervous huff grazed his face. “Would prefer to get a hint, now an' then."  
Aziraphale leaned in for another gentle kiss. “What more do you need? Apocalypse, the Forces of Heaven, of Hell. All of them thwarted, and here we are, having tea in my bookshop and me finally catching up to you.” Crowley's eyes grew wide and he could swear that a blush was creeping over his cheeks. “An Angel and a Demon, on Our Own Side, protecting Humanity. There is no other conclusion. It's...”  
“Oh, for Somebody's sake. Are you gonna say-”  
Aziraphale's smile widened, a teasing glimmer in his eyes as his lips brushed Crowley's. “_Ineffable_.”


End file.
